I want so badly to blog about farts right now, but since mocking my dear husband for that is not nice, I am going to write about something else. But let's just say that Bill Cosby's description of his father changing keys as he came down the stairs in the morning has NOTHING on the Bob.
This week began the orientation sessions for the new incoming students. We do four orientation sessions over two weeks. So it is a parade of parents asking the same questions. It is normal, I am used to it. But this year we have the economy adding a new layer of anxiety over the normal "my kid is going to college for the first time, living away from home for the first time, it costs HOW MUCH" anxiety. Today was the second parent session, and I am always fascinated by the capacity to ask a question regarding something I JUST TALKED ABOUT. In depth and at length. With pictures and diagrams and graphs and arrows. OK, maybe not arrows or graphs, but a powerpoint presentation, which I print out for their take home benefit. Sigh. Like work study. This is a financial aid award that the federal government gives us money for, to pay students to work on campus. They have to work to get paid the funds. It never appears as a credit on the bill. Never ever ever ever ever NEVER. I say that at least three times in a presentation, it is in BOLD LETTERS on the screen and on the paper in front of them. Then the director of student accounts speaks about the bill, and reiterates that it is never going to be a credit. We don't know if a student will actually work or how much they will earn. So no credit. PAY CHECKS. FOR HOURS WORKED.
But without fail, someone will ask about work study and the bill. SIGH AGAIN. I will grant them it is all very overwhelming, and it is almost like learning a foreign language when you begin the financial aid process. Which is why I work very hard at making it as clear and simple as possible. I will assume that I must be helping some people. Or else there would be more questions.
And it is raining here, again. It is supposed to rain for a solid week. Seriously. I may never actually swim in my pool. ARG. Cooper wants to be in it badly, but it is hard to help him understand that 64 degree water is ccccccooooooooollllllld. I suppose I could let him find out how cold it is, but then he might never go in the pool or any body of water again, and that is counterproductive.